The Cold, The Black
by Joshandthat
Summary: Tywin didn't want Robb Stark dead. He wanted peace. The new Lord of Winterfell Brandon Stark agreed to peace as long as the former King in the North; Robb Stark is sent to the Wall and not executed. Jon has finally carved out a niche and his brother comes to outshine him once more. Jeor Mormont is just planning to leave for the Fist of The First Men and everything is going to go
1. Chapter 1

"Keep it up, keep it up or I'll ring your head like a bell!"

The practice swords swang, and swung hard, clashing, the echo ringing out in a circular arc; starting at the base of the yard and rolling off the rooms, the stone, the ice and then sung free outwards into the chill. The second blow hit the shield, now kept up, a bass resonation replaced the high-pitched singing of steel, yet it followed its high-pitched cousins contours up and around the yard before the echo was diluted by the winds.

"Good, good!"

It wasn't good, Jon wasn't ready and if he wasn't ready then these lads certainly weren't. Yet three days time and they rode out. He would do what he could. To keep himself and his brothers alive.

"Keep going, come on! Remember your training," he encouraged the newest recruits as he swung his sword at them with the patterns which Ser Rodrik had instilled in him since he was young. Brothers shared knowledge did they not and he was finally finding his brothers here. Finally he was becoming accepted and new friends were such a thrill to Jon that he wished to return the gift of their friendship with the only gift he could possibly give. That of violence. An unfortunate skill, but a skill nonetheless.

They trained. Hard. Receiving and delivering hard blows, giving and taking bruises and scrapes and minor cuts. It was all in good spirits. After a couple hours of this, Jon was ready for food and rest but despite this he was content. Too tired to be fearful of what was about to happen, and so pleased to share companionship. He was content. Leaving to go to the mess hall they laughed and japed about the training his heart froze as the call rang out.

"SNOW! Come 'ere."

The other brothers were used to this now. Since he killed the wight. Since he was given Longclaw. Jon still loathed it and yet panicked at the same time. He could be in trouble or worse yet. Ill news from the South. Whatever it might be he was being singled out again.

Entering the chambers of the Lord commander he felt the illness of the situation. The grave faces and conciliatory smiles. Ill news was afoot.

"My lords?!" Jon spoke first, hiding the tremor in his own voice. Prompting an end to the silence which was so disconcerting. Bad news was better than waiting.

"News from the South Jon," Maester Aemon spoke up in his trembling, yet still powerful voice. "Bad and good I would say," the elderly maester held up a piece of paper with his wizened, arthritic hands.

Jon took it and opened it; his own hand trembling somewhat. He read quickly, his heart beating. Robb. Defeated. Sent to the Wall. Northern Lords and Men-At-Arms to accompany him. Bran the new lord of Winterfell. Peace. Lannister victory. The letter fell from his hands. Unable to hold it still.

His half-brother he was... Jon's head began spinning unable to process this information. Faintly he stumbled out of the Lord's hall and to the wall and held onto an unlit brazier to steady himself.

Robb lived that was good. Yet Robb and many of his banners would come to his place soon, and once again Jon would play second fiddle… As far as Jon had progressed as much of a home as he had created for himself, Robb would come and take that from him… As good of a warrior as Jon was, Robb was battle-hardened. A killer. A successful one at that. Jon wondered how many men Robb had left hewn; whether it be twenty or a hundred it was more than him.

He slapped his cheeks with his gloved hands.

Your brother is alive. That is what matters. He is your brother.

The hug they shared was meaningful. It was tight and Robb clearly held him dear searching for a comfort he had long since lost. Jon's doubts and misgivings were forgotten as he saw his brother's face. As his brother's arms wrapped around him and their bodies pressed together. It meant something. A deep familiar and fraternal love.

"We ride tomorrow!" The Lord Commander called down from the mezzanine to the yard just as Robb and Jon broke their embrace; still clutching at each other's forearm. Robb looked up to listen. Jon looked at Robb. His brother was there, but there was a darkness in his eyes which Jon couldn't place. Perhaps the coldness from war and battle and death. Yes, that must be it.

"I've brought you something," Robb told Jon. He turned his back and walked to his horse. He came with two hundred and fifty riders whose loyalty to him took them with Robb to the Wall. Lords and retainers from the Last Hearth to White Harbour accompanied the former King in the North. Robb fetched a leather cuirass, similar to the one he used to wear, and their father wore. Complete with the metal protector for the neck; which was emblazoned with direwolves of House Stark. "You've never surrendered, so you might as well wear it."

"I'm sorry," was all Jon could muster. As they embraced again.

Jon was dead on his feet, gritting his teeth he forced himself to keep moving. Grunting he fell in the deep snow.

"Shit!" He exhaled out in between exertions of ragged breaths. Stinging icy winds ironically burnt the back of his throat like so many white and blue embers.

"Just leave me!"

"Never! If we die we die," Jon repeated the same sentiment in different words to Robb over and over on their slog back to safety. The snow would be a hard obstacle to pass alone, but dragging his half-brother behind him made it Herculean.

"I'm already fuckin' dead, that fuckin' thing," Robb cursed, his voice close to a howl. "That fucking thing cut me deep. I've seen a lot of a death, a lot, a lot of battle…" He paused to grunt and suck in some air through gritted teeth. "A lot of battle and when people are wounded like this they…"

"Oh shut the fuck up Robb!" Jon snarled. Tired of this. "Stop talking about the war for once, for once, we're thousands of leagues from it. I don't give a shit what you saw, what happened. Right now I care about one thing!" He bellowed; finally relieving the value on the pressure that had been building up inside him since their fraternal reunion.

"What?"

"Getting your arse back," Jon puffed and he gripped the scruff of Robb's and began dragging him again. Walking backwards in the thick, high snow. The former King in the North moaned with pain at first but kept himself in check after Jon's outburst.

They got closer and closer as time passed, Jon's eyes were drooping and a small, but growing, voice in his head, was telling him to rest in the snow. The cold stung his face, drying his eyes and cheeks out, his lips now hard and screaming in agony; had hardened like frozen blood.

"There it is brother, there it fucking is," Jon cried out in happiness as he saw the dim light in the distance. The dim light, a tiny candle covered in a shroud of orange then grey, then black but that orange glow was certainly there unless his eyes were being fooled by tiredness.

The screech changed his sudden positive mood to dark once more.

Wights.

Jon wrenched Longclaw from his hip. Most blades stuck in the ice but the valyrian steel slid out with ease. He couldn't see shit in the hail and gale and tundra. Just noises. The harrowing cry from dead, rotten lungs, through broken long dead yellowed teeth.

He turned and swiped in a long arc where he thought a scream was coming from and connected. Bones flew everywhere, the sharp jagged parts flying over him as whatever necromancy weaved them together was undone. It was Jon's turn to join his brother in agony, as the spear tip like shards of bone cut his face, blinding him in his left eye, as blood flowed into it.

The blood cooled and froze quick. As it had with Robb. Probably the reason his half-brother was still breathing.

He tilted, in a fighting stance waiting for disturbances to attack in abyss of these lands. The crumpling of snow came from behind him and Jon span and swung at what looked like nothing but the impact and connection which rang through his blade told a different story. He was waiting breathing even harder than before, no more noises, except Robb who was coughing now.

"Come on!" Jon grabbed his brother and kept dragging him. "We're almost there!" His voice cracking with desperation.

"Leave me or carry me brother."

Jon thought about arguing, if he carried Robb his wounds, which had frozen closed, might be reopened up on his shoulders. More cries in the dark prompted him to follow his order and he hauled Robb up on his shoulder and started jogging as well as one could in the deep snow towards the light.

When they were spotted by sentries men rushed out and Robb was helped in and Jon collapsed and was helped too into the outhouse away from Craster. The elderly wildling's cruel words and provocativities would surely lead to blood with tensions so high.

"Where are the rest?" Jon asked looking at the smattering of broken and bent brothers left.

"You're first back… The rest? Fuck knows," the ranger raised both his palms upwards showing he had nothing to offer. "I hope he's alright," he pointed to Robb who was now placed against Craster's palisade by the outhouse, his eyes closed and his head lolling.

"He will be. Starks are hard to kill," Jon mumbled, the utter exhaustion kicking in, he had no more energy. "I've dragged him miles he better fucking survive," he said to himself so quietly even he barely hear it.

"Then what happened?" Grenn asked. He was almost bouncing from one foot to another with excitement.

"Well then, well then the exciting stuff happened," Robb drawled out, clearly enjoying the captivated audience.

"That shit you just said weren't the exciting stuff? The fuck!" Pyp slapped his leg, extremely pleased as he spilled some of his water in his happiness.

"Ser Jaime was in chains, my infantry arrived and took him. So I carried on, with my heavy horse, covered in blood, my arm, my sword, my whole right side!" Robb sounded like a mummer to Jon but to his brothers he sounded like The Warrior of the Seven Gods himself. They, his brothers, were completely captivated by his actual brother. "Down to Riverrun. The Lannisters had spread themselves over three islands and we fell on them hard!"

"How did you ride through the water?" Sam asked. He instantly looked self-conscious as the group's attention turned to him. "I mean, if they, I mean if they were you know? Separated… Over three," Sam's confidence died in awkwardness. Jon slapped him on the shoulder, and the son of Horn Hill took a deep breath, nodded to himself and continued. "How did you attack all three islands without boats?"

"They did the work for us," Robb replied kindly, not making an issue of Sam's nervousness and smiling reassuringly at him. Jon felt jealous. The smile Sam returned, one of returning and re-established confidence, used to be reserved for Jon and Jon alone. Robb had taken it from him.

Jon felt jealous.

"How so?"

The entire group of rangers and stewards who were sitting around a small fire on the peak of The Fist Of The First Men; captivated by Robb's story jumped in their seats. Lord Commander Mormont stood above them. A sincere look of interest on his face as he looked at Robb. A look of respect and deference. Jon again felt incredibly jealous. So much so he felt sick, and had to concentrate very hard on trying to look as if he was normal and enjoying the tales as much as anyone.

The beat of his horse's hooves became one with heart, he had never felt so amazing before. Never. It was better than sex and hunting and… And any pleasure he had known before; even combined.

Robb's arm was slick with blood. As was the neck and flank of his horse.

It was incredible.

He had killed, then killed, then killed and then killed once more. Four kills of armoured Lannister knights. Now he was winning. He was less than thirty seconds from the treeline. Then victory.

He almost resented the distance between him, his horse, and his heavy cavalry from the treeline as it held him back from the enemy.

As he burst through the treeline the Red Cloaked soldiers who were standing casually around fires and tents panicked.

As they rushed for their shields and spears he was on them. Cutting down, cocking his arm back and swiping low, slicing left and hammering right as the euphoria reached a rapture.

He killed, then killed, then killed, then killed, then killed, then… missed a downward strike but on the backswing killed again.

"Drive them to the river!" He bellowed. His heart beating like a hummingbird but each frantic thump was one of utter glee.

His men drove the Lannisters to the river and cut them down. The men on the third island were attacked by the Tully garrison who sullied forth during the chaos. The Lannister's on the second island, the middle island, attempted to cross the river to relieve the third island but the…

"...ir barges and rafts capsized," Robb finished. "It was the first time I'd killed someone," Robb added as there were several moments of silence as the audience took in what he said.

"What's it like?" Dolorous Edd asked in a small voice after many moments. Moments which passed slow as they were each packed with pregnant gravitas as those who heard the tale appreciated the first hand account of a major battle.

"It's hard going, real fuckin' hard going, when you stab a man, even through the chest, they don't die, they don't fall over and sleep forever, no, no, no fucking hell no," Robb explained. "They holler and moan and writhe and weep until the end comes after minutes maybe hours of misery. It isn't like when you play soldiers as a kid."

"I never played soldier as a kid," Grenn replied wistfully. "

"Me n'ither," Pyp added.

"My niece?" The Lord Commander asked.

"Caved a Lannister knight's chest in with a bearded axe!" Robb said cheerfully. The Lord Commander beamed at him and squeezed the decrowned King's shoulder. Jeor Mormont opened his mouth, surely to say something to Robb which would make Jon's jealousy more severe but he was stopped by the blast of the horn.

"I've been called many things in my life, but I think that's my first 'lord,' Qhorin," the legendary ranger laughed. "I'll take the lad. Come on Snow!" He waved Jon over. Accepting his offer. Jon had been terrified asking if he could leave with the Half-Hand, if he was refused he would feel rejected and unwanted. That would do little for his current mood. At last he wrestled some control back from his half-brother.

"You need anymore men?" The Lord Commander asked. "Lord Stark brought many retainers to bolster our numbers, so I can spare another one or two Qhorin."

"Excellent! Well Lord Stark then, do wish to come?"

"Of course," Robb strutted forward and shook the hand of the Half-Hand as the Lord Commander patted his back encouragingly.

Jon's feeling of sickness returned.


	2. Chapter 2

"Say a quick prayer lads and we'll be off," Qhorin ordered. Jon closed his eyes and muttered some words to the old gods, the warband split equally between the Seven and the Old. "Not prayin' Lord Stark?"

"No, I don't believe in it," Robb said flatly.

"You don't believe in praying?"

"Before battle? No."

"It's a tradition in my band, to wish for a blessing 'cause gods know there ain't any fuckin' kindness in this land," Qhorin waved his maimed hand towards neverending expanse of snow and rock.

"Why? The Wildlings hold gods don't they? We hold different gods from them, from each other, why would they listen?"

"It's just a tradition, gives us a feeling of protection."

"Will the Seven bless the Southerners? While the Old bless us Northerners? Will only half of us receive a blessing? Will the Wildling's prayers be ignored or counteracted by ours," Robb continued haughtily. It wound Jon up the wrong way but even worse he seemed to be convincing everyone else with arrogant musings on philosophy. "It's bollocks," he concluded.

"He's changed my mind," a ranger laughed and slapped Robb on the back.

He hadn't changed Jon's however.

Robb lead the charge, as they ambushed a smattering of Wildlings; who were camped around a small fire. For all the training Jon had undergone and for all the experience of the rangers and even that of the Half-Hand it paled in comparison to Robb's battlefield experience. He had to give it to his brother who had lead full scale, epic battles, Robb knew how to fight.

Robb shoulder barged the first man he came into contact with, knocking him into another; spilling them onto the cold hard floor. As he barged Robb was already pivoting on his heel and spinning his sword around his body to cut under the guard of an axe wielding monster of a man. Robb caught the falling man and stabbed him again through the neck, holding his blade in the men's throat so he could be a gruesome shield.

Robb forced the dead marionette he had created into the two men he had barged over, then brutally stabbed down through the dead puppet into the live man underneath. Withdrawing his sword he decapitated the next man, who was still trying to get to his feet, in one graceful and morbidly picturesque move.

Robb danced and pivoted in front of two more wildlings, he dodged a heavy axe blow and embedded his sword in the second man. Robb left his sword in his felled foe's chest as he pulled out his knife and stabbed the axe wielder in the neck before he could recover from his heavy swing.

Jon tried to help, but the other rangers had already got there and had already killed off every man that Robb hadn't. Robb had killed the majority of men… It had looked like he could have killed them all alone… Jon's stomach panged with envy.

He sheathed Longclaw without even using it. Robb was coated in blood, the spray already drying over his face, neck and black cloak. He was completely unaffected by the grisly display which turned Jon's pang into disgust.

The pangs of jealousy flared up again. Jon didn't know if he was capable of such battlefield prowess, but he did know he wished he was. Hence the jealousy.

"Got a prisoner Stark?"

Jon's head snapped to his brother again, who was holding his sword to the throat of a surrendering wildling. He walked over to join in. Sucking in his breath, he was taken aback. Whatever he expected the wildling to look like the red haired beauty wasn't close to the image in his mind.

Jon was taken aback by her looks, and taken aback by the look of brave defiance shining in her eyes. She glanced at Jon but her eyes were firmly locked on Robb. She was clearly looking at him as if he was the only person who had ever existed. It annoyed the fuck out of Jon. Robb. The superior warrior. Robb. The more likeable to men. Robb. Who women all fawned over.

"She were reaching for t'e axe before you caught her Stark, she'd have buried in your skull," Qhorin announced as he joined them, sheathing his cleaver. "We're moving on, come on Snow, Lord Stark question her, kill her, then rejoin us."

Robb nodded to the Half-Hand. Winked at Jon and turned his attention back to the girl.

Talisa's hand felt so good against even the most scar covered parts of his flesh. The thrill of battle had long since faded. Long since, then the soreness set in, a deep body-binding soreness which locked down all his muscles.

Somehow Talisa could get rid of his knots in a moment. Her exotic, tanned skin still just as exciting and arousing as it as it been since their first time. He had barely got his trousers off, and his armor was still stuck to his chest, the leather chafing and the steel rings of mail rubbing painfully. He didn't notice as his new wife guided him inside her and with hands on her taut body all discomfort was forgotten, all his woes and troubles disappeared as he and his wife joined together and became a perfect one.

"Where is she now?"

"Shut up!"

"Or what? You ain't killed me yet, so I doubt I'll provoke you now huh?"

"Shut the fuck up! Wildling," Robb spat at the red haired girl, as she was wrapped in ropes, several paces ahead of him.

"Touchy, so this girl," the wildling continued. Robb regretted mentioning he had a beauty of a wife. He gave into his ego. He gave in when she taunted him as if he were some common night's watch recruit. Why he had seen the point in trying to brag or correct or show off to a person who was closer to the beasts than to humans was beyond him now.

"Shut up! I will kill you."

"I don't doubt it, you're a great warrior, huh? … Your name?" She spoke in a sing-song which was strangely pleasant to his ears. "Mine is Ygritte," she turned and grinned.

It must have just been too long since he had seen a girl.

"Robb," he muttered bitterly after a few moments. "Robb Stark."

"Stark?!" She stopped and turned and walked towards him, closing the distance of his leash. Robb put a warning hand on his sword and she smirked and paused. "The King in the North!"

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Robb's anger boiled over. "I led my people," he marched up to her and grabbed her by the throat, "against the Southerners who wished to rule over us and to kill us and to beat us and degrade and humiliate us! What do you know of such things?! What do you know of the horror of war?! Cheapen my name and you'll regret it girl!"

"Everything!" She spat back, her eyes furious with self-righteousness. "You're my oppressor! You are from MY South and You…"

"Oh shut the fuck up!" Robb broke her diatribe. "I'm not some member of the Night's Watch, I'm not some Wildling warrior. I am the former King of the North. Yes former. Ha-dee-fuckin'-ha, I lost. Yet you should tremble before me! I have killed more men than you've laid with whore. I've killed more men than you have even met. I've lead tens of thousands against tens of thousands. I've torn down stone and I've torn down brick and mortar. I've…"

He paused to suck in several deep breaths to calm himself. The cold air had the opposite effect. Making it impossible to breath anything but harsh, sharp inhalitions.

"Don't talk to me like that girl," he snarled after catching himself. "I didn't used to be a man to be with fucked with. Now?!," his eyes bulged psychotically, "now I wouldn't try a thing with me. Now I have nothing left to lose. I will lift you up. I will tear you open. I will pour your heart out!"

Ygritte opened her mouth to say something snarky back. Yet she didn't, she caught the terrible look in the eyes of Robb Stark, and decided to stay silent.

Robb swung his sword over and over, warming up his arm and his wrist and shoulder as he joined the Night's Watch training yard. Jon was whacking several men up and down the yard. Using techniques Robb recognized from Ser Rodrick's training. Training which he had developed upon and perfected and surpassed. Jon thought himself great eh? Well Robb had proven himself such and now he had naught to prove he just wanted to hurt. Hurt and hurt until he was gone and could rest. "Snow fight Stark!" a man called out.

The chorus of applause and encouragement basically manifested the inevitable clash.

Though it was little of a clash.

Robb bullied Jon around the yard, pushing him back and badly bruising him at every chance. He knocked Jon down into the snow over and over.

Robb made the point to the rangers and trainees alike; if Jon was their best they didn't even know what good meant.

Robb felt really good about himself for the first time in a long time as Jon rolled pathetically down and didn't get up for another round. He felt even better when he was cried on by not only his loyal retainers but the brothers of the Watch.

When he saw the defeated look in his half brother's eye he felt atrocious and guilty. For only a half a second. Jon didn't know what pain and disappointment meant.

"You clearly wanna talk, so talk."

Robb looked up from the cave he had hidden himself and his wildling quarry inside of to meet her stare. She was intimidated by him and he knew or at least could sense she wasn't intimidated by many.

"Fine suit yourself," she turned as far as she could turn from him while still wrapped in ropes.

Long minutes passed. As Robb tapped his fingers together, thinking over what the girl had said. The sputtering of the fire he had built crackled and burst in the silence, making the seconds longer somehow.

"Fine, fine fuck it fine," Robb grumbled, as the girl turned back to look at him; struggling to sit up as she was confined in her bonds. "Actually," he paused, "why do you think I want to talk?"

"I see it, in your eyes," she drawled in her manner. Robb stared her out, not letting her wrestle the power from him. His gaze made her uncomfortable as she squirmed and was forced into carrying on. "Look at you. A great warrior right? A leader of men. With a great life now lost in the Northern wasteland… The best looking man I've seen. The best fighter I've seen. Yet there's a sadness to your eyes. You don't wish to be doing what you are doing… I see it in your eyes"

"You're scared by my eyes," Robb shot back.

"I am," she replied breaking their eye contact. "I am," she looked back. "You have recklessness and a loss in your eyes."

"Do I now?"

"Yes," Ygritte scooted closer to him. Sounding more confident now. "I've heard rumours which have floated North."

"Rumours of what?" Robb tried to sound disinterested.

"The Young Wolf."

Robb roared and stood with a frenzy and intensity which made Ygritte shake as he paced over to her, stepping through the fire and spilling embers and coals left and right with the recklessness which the redhead had said she had seen in him. He pinned her down by her shoulders and growled like a wolf, into her face.

"Do Not Call Me That!"

"You don't wanna be called that?" She murmured.

"No I fucking don't."

"Do you even wanna be Robb Stark anymore?"

"No." He replied solemnly after several pauses. "No I don't," he let her go and stood and turned his back. Massaging his temples as he thought and deliberated.

"Then why be? Then why be a crow?" She asked softly, almost sultry. Whether she meant her voice to be sultry or not it sounded so to Robb's ears. "Why not be free and be a new person. Start again?"

"I have started again!" He cried out, his voice warbling with anxiety. "See this hideous black cloak?! This is starting again."

"No!" Ygritte struggled but managed to force herself to her feet and hopped and stumbled towards Robb. He didn't stop her. "No, you're still Robb Stark. You're still a failed King. You're still connected to the world you hate so much."

"What other option do I have?"

Ygritte pressed herself to him. Falling over her bonds, tripping and striking her chest and shoulders into his much broader chest and shoulders. He caught her and looked down at her as his strong hands held her steady.

She leaned up on her tip toes and kissed her captor.

"I can show you another way," she whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

Had he done the right thing?!

Leaving Winterfell it had seemed so.

Leading an army, coated in armour and mail and with standards fluttering behind him it all felt so right. His father was the most noble man in the Kingdoms and he was on a noble and a decent quest to save him from villains.

Oxcross at dawn almost changed his mind.

Robb was coated in blood. It felt like dried paint. He raised a fingernail to his neck and chipped off some coagulated blood.

Lannisters deserved it!

Didn't they?

He wasn't so sure now, as he was surrounded by the moans and the howls and the screams of dying, maimed and hurt men. Their red cloaks and patterned Lannister armor no longer drew hatred from him in the cold light of dawn, it drew sympathy. Lads and boys who looked like the stable hands and farm workers from Winter Town and Cerwyn were strewn about hewn and pathetic.

Robb was full of pride and righteous anger as he cut down fighting men during the early hours of the night; when his assault struck so hard. Now…

Oxcross was disgusting. It looked like a realm of hell. A realm of twisted monuments made from broken bone and twisted flesh. Painted in blood.

Lord Bolton came to speak to him and jolted is mind back to seriousness.

"FUUUUUUUUCK!" Robb jumped awake. He blinked a few times, struggling, with his gloved hands, to brush the sleep from the corners of his eyes. He was shaking. Reorienting himself he looked around the cave. "I'm alright," he told himself.

Across from the now very low orange fire, which was smouldering its last at this point, Ygritte woke to his scream. Writhing in her ropes. Robb looked at her as she reorientated herself in turn. He touched his lips; remembering their kiss from before their rest.

"Fuck," Robb repeated.

"Bad dreams Stark?" She asked sweetly. Too sweetly.

"What's your game character?"

"What do you mean?" The firey red head asked, cocking her head to the side, in an act which was meant to convey confusion but to a man who was a King was recognizable as acting.

"Your confidence seems false to me," Robb told her flatly. "You're what a year older than me perhaps? Yet you haven't lived much. It's impossible. All the while you pretend to be sure of yourself, pretend you have a wisdom and a certainty to your beliefs which you can't. It's a mummer's show… A magic trick, a play," Robb confirmed when Ygritte showed she didn't understand the term 'mummer.' "Is that your game? Huh? Pretend you know something others don't and pretend you're someone you're not in order to illicit reactions from people?"

"Did you have a bad dream?" Ygritte smirked at him, but it was a false smirk, she knew he knew it was.

"I did…"

"Tell me about it… Robb."

He growled to himself and fixated herself with a look of anger and derision.

"Prefer Stark?"

"Fair enough."

"So Robb," Ygritte started moving with great difficulty in her bonds towards him. Robb stood and marched over to her and sat by her side so she would no longer messing around trying move in captivity. She paused and looked deep into his eyes, the fear was still there, but some understanding and curiosity too. "So Robb, what did you dream of?"

"Death."

"We all have bad dreams of death," Ygritte replied. Again in a tone which Robb heard as sultry. "Why don't you come here and we can cuddle together for warmth?" She bit her lip as she finished the sentence.

"Transparent," Robb grumbled, as he looked through his meagre pack to find some water and dried beef.

"What does that mean? I ain't no fancy Southern Lady like you're used to."

"No shit… Here," he tossed her the water, "don't drink too much. Transparent means I can see what you're doing. I'm a man, alone out here, you're a pretty girl,"

"Thanks."

"Quiet," Robb snarled, he instantly rejected the adjective. "You try to seduce me. Stab me the moment I let you go, 'cause a stupid boy like me would fall for the trick."

"The trick?" She smirked again, as she struggled through her bondage to try and fail to pick up the water.

"I would think this right? That you are my enemy, but you've seen my mercy, we've talked some and maybe you actually find me interesting despite our differences. That my skill at arms and as you, yourself said, my good looks, as you, yourself said, had won you over and to ignore my sense and give into temptation," Robb said flatly as she still failed to grasp and open the water skin. "What dignity do you have to waste? No real concepts of honour and family, why not whore yourself for freedom."

"You're a very cynical young man," she laughed, giving up with the water skin.

"You don't know the word transparent but you do know the word cynical?"

Ygritte just shrugged and smiled.

"You ought to have been captured by Jon," Robb slumped down next to her, grabbing the ropes around her waist and hoisting her up into a more comfortable sitting position.

"Who's he?"

"My half-brother," Robb replied as he uncorked the water skin and poured a few bursts of aqua into his captive's mouth. The whole time she maintained eye contact. She was trying to unsettle him. "He was with us when you captured you."

"Oh the other pretty crow?" Ygritte asked as a smidgen of water trickled from her mouth. Robb mopped it with his sleeve instinctively. "Thank you Lord Stark," she drawled. "Well he might not be as pretty as you…" Still with the intense eye contact. "But maybe my 'trick' woulda worked."

"Maybe, he's never been with a girl," Robb stood up and walked away from her. Being close to her wasn't helping with the claim that she had no thrall over him. "Never been to war. Don't even know if he's killed a man."

"Poor boy."

"No! Good for him. I wished to kill and follow my father to war and then I did and it was… They didn't deserve it, not really," Robb sighed. Before catching himself. He waggled his finger. "You're good."

"You're insane."

"Why is that pray tell girl?" Robb sat back down opposite her in the golden glow of the embers.

"You're seeing shadows."

"Fires will do that," he shot back.

"Ha fuckin' ha," Ygritte winked at him, not taking their talk as seriously as Robb felt she ought to. He was the captor and her the captive no? "I'm not some clever, clever Southerner talking tricks and lying for… Poloctaking is it?"

"Politics."

"See I don't even know the word," she laughed.

"So you say."

"Fuckin' hell you're a miserable man, for one so young, younger than me just about and yet so wary of people."

"We're enemies, you know that right? You get that? It makes perfect sense to mistrust you. I have been mistreated and betrayed over and over. I was a FUCKING KING a couple months ago, now I'm a nobody, who is probably gonna die in the frozen North," Robb's emotions broke out. He would have regretted the outburst if it didn't feel so good to say. "My mother will live at Casterly Rock with my Uncle Edmure as 'guests,' bah fucking guests, prisoners more like. My crippled brother is a puppet in Winterfell… Fuck it's fucking…"

"Then why fight for the crows?"

"Sorry?" Robb's aggression died down as he got the venom out.

"Why fight for the crows?"

"Because…"

The silence stretched as Robb sensed Ygritte's eyes boring into him but he didn't meet her's. He tried to make sense of what was said but nothing came just a swirl of regrets and confusion and self-hatred.

"What else can I do? If the war carried on I would have died in some field or ditch in the South. Now I die in some tundra in the North."

"Join us!" Ygritte whispered as she tried to scoot closer to him but couldn't. "Come and fight with Mance. Take revenge for those who have wronged you!"

"Oh yes, should I do that? Should I trust you. You like me like that, you have a place in your army for me, you have all I want? Easy words of a prisoner."

"You're mind is all broken and poisoned from Southern life," Ygritte said flatly. "I don't want you for any other reason than you're attractive even by Southern standards; god sake I've never seen a man who looks like you and I think a good fuck no? You see lies and hidden plots because are from that world. I am from a simple world where we want and take what we want."

"You just wanna fuck?" Robb laughed despite himself, he laughed again, as he looked up and caught her eye and saw she suggestively nodded upwards. "Again, pull the other one."

"Other what?"

"I'm saying that's bullshit."

"Again you come from a world of bullshit, liars, what is there to want out in the true North; here worth lying about?" Ygritte reasoned.

"Ha! Bollocks, men are men and men are fundamentally… Basically at their core," he offered another word when his original once more confused her. "If there is something to fight over… Look if a man has a Valyrian steel sword, then a man with a perfect cast castle steel forged sword will be jealous of it, the man with a mass produced steel sword will desire the castle forged one, the man with a chipped or cracked sword will simply wish for an undamaged blade, the man with cudgel wishes for the sword no matter its condition. If you're not even thinking about the sword and just want a woodcutter's axe then you are on the ladder you just are so far down the ladder you don't know the top but it's there. If a plot of land is all you can want or even just a job tilling someone else's land you have the same desires and jealousy and wants as those who live in Castles and have Valyrian steel swords."

Robb caught himself. He hadn't meant to talk to her at all and now he was sharing his philosophies he had developed over long seasons campaigning. Looking at his prisoner she was captivated by what he had said.

"Did you follow? I'm saying bad men make bad for good things."

"Fuck off, I followed," she spoke quietly. "You're interesting."

"Not just a pretty face," Robb sighed as he stood up and stalked to the entrance of the cave and poked his head out. Dawn is a while off. He was still tired. "We can sleep some more then we set off," he announced to Ygritte.

"Little help?"

"Sorry?"

"I can't lie down on my own."

"Flop."

"Humph, and I thought we'd bonded," the wildling's eyes flashed playfully. She started to rock side to side under her bonds to fall sideways. Robb sighed again, deeply. Standing once more he walked over and helped her down. "What happens," she waited for him to return to the opposite side of the fire where he would sleep. "If you are the one with the vacbryan sword?"

"Valyrian."

"If you are the one with the Val… Verr… With the best sword, then you're alright aren't you?" Ygritte asked him. She was pacing her words out, and trying to sound more composed.

"I was that man. The Lord of the largest Kingdom and I was jealous… But you worry about those below you… If you have the Vee-lare-ree-an sword then you worry about the castle forged sword wielder."

"I understand."

"It's all of no consequence though…" Robb mumbled sadly as he wrapped himself in his ugly, black cloak. "Sleep well."

Jon couldn't hold his tongue a moment longer. Any jealousy he felt towards his half-brother disappeared like the morning snow as he was disappeared.

"We have to go back for Robb!" He interrupted the brief pause the warband had taken to eat.

There wasn't the instant denial and shutting down of his opinions as he expected. As Jon was used to at Castle Black and at Winterfell previous.

Just solemn faces and exchanged looks.

Qhorin got up and threw his salted beef down into a tin mug. He walked slowly up to Jon and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"If he ain't dead, then…"

"He isn't dead!" Jon said determinedly.

"He's lost in the wilderness and…"

"You know what Qhorin," one of the grizzled rangers spoke up, "you saw him fight."

"Aye, I did. Made me look like babe with a wooden dagger!" Qhorin admitted. "However he don't know these lands. Maybe me. Maybe I could find this group and that's a fucking big maybe son. A fucking big one. Bigger than the Wall. He won't…" Qhorin, pushed his cap off the back of his head and ran his mutilated fingers through his hair. "He won't find us if he's alive, he'd go back to the Lord Commander."

"You think?" Jon asked hopefully and even he himself could concede naively.

"Robb Stark is a fuckin' legend lad, don't worry 'bout him. Now he ain't with us I worry 'bout us," the same ranger piped up.

"It's true Snow, your brother won every battle he fought, he humbled Tywin Lannister, if it weren't for traitors he'd be King of the world by now, he'll be alright," Qhorin told him. "He might be dead true. Yes. He might but we all think the opposite. We ought to be worried 'bout ourselves."

"You should."

Every man in black leaped to their feet and drew their swords and axes and maces ready.

Up on the ridges which surrounded their temporary camp men and women with spears and axes appeared like the strewn debris from a tempest of snow. Jon went to draw his sword but Qhorin Half-Hand caught his wrist and pushed his blade back into its sheath.

A man covered in parts of a skeleton, as if his bones were on the outside instead of on the in, walked down confidently. His skull helm obscured his face completely. It was unsettling. They spoke stories of the wildlings but to see the one so monstrous and so barbaric put the fear of god in Jon.

"Throw yer weapons down crows and you'll live."

"Do as he says. Fuck! Do as he says!" Qhorin told the warband.

It broke Jon's heart as Longclaw was confiscated and ropes were wrapped around his wrist. Even now Robb might be in a better position now.

Even if he were dead.

"Not gonna talk no more?"

"What?" Robb asked. As he and the red-haired wildling walked as captor and captive through the wasteland.

"You all wanted to talk last night and now you're all silent like."

"I'm thinking."

"About swords."

Robb snorted as he tried and failed to hold in the laugh.

"You're warming up to me aren't ya?"

"I… Shut up."

"You are. I can tell. Imagine," she stopped and turned to face him, stretching her arms out. "Imagine being free in this free place with free people."

"No one is ever free girl, no one," Robb's mood switched immediately. "No one…"

"We might be worse than that…"

Robb was ready to shoot back a snarky comeback but he saw what made his captive hold her tongue. Six men surrounded them on the snowy flat in which they were standing. Robb closed the gap between the end of his rope and his prisoner.

"Mates of yours?" He grumbled as he pulled his sword free.

"No. Fuckin' hell no," Ygritte replied. "These are Thenns. Enemies of all decent folk; North and South of your wall."

"Are they so if I free you you'll help me? Huh? You and I will be friends until the end?" Robb shouted out as loud as he could.

"No I'll die with you and they'll eat our dead skin. So I will help you if you FUCKIN' free me!"

Robb got a chill from her words.

The men who stalked and came down onto him were nasty looking. They were tattooed and coated in scars which coated their faces in distinctive markings. Holding iron axes and bone made axes.

"Free me and I'll help you," the wildling girl cried as Robb took his loosened blade and stepped forth to meet his attackers.

The words his attackers spoke he did not recognise but their menacing tone he understood.

"I don't need…"

Robb dodged an incoming blow at his head, the man who swung lost his axe in the snow as the first son of Eddard Stark caught the second man's weapon in his left hand and his right hand worked well with his sword cutting the fellow's chest open. Robb danced backwards and twisted his torso to cut upwards into the man who first tried to strike him and took half his neck away.

Four more descended upon them as Robb kicked the corpses he had created away and moved in front of Ygritte in order to protect her.

"Free me! I'll fight with you!"

Robb ignored her and parried an incoming swing on his blade. Using a trick he learned at the Golden Tooth he dropped his sword and drew his dagger and stabbed another man in the heart with it. He danced again, once more, out to the left: which was a feint, and ended up on his right and threw the dagger with deadly accuracy at another of these Thenn.

He turned on his heels and took up his lost sword, the man he left it with was still recovering, but Robb was not and he took back his sword and buried it deep into the man's trapezius. It poked out his lower rib.

"FREE MEEEE!"

There was only one more.

"Should I still free you girl?" Robb taunted as five dead foes were scattered in the snow.

The final man bellowed unintelligible words at him and rushed forth; his axe held high. Robb could have easily dodged him. Could have easily ducked under his guard. Instead he let the man swing dangerously close to him, Robb punched his lights out.

This Thenn, this barbarian, hit the cold snow hard.

"I didn't need you to fight with me!" Robb bragged turning to his captive. She just looked up at him from her fallen position, where she was sheltering from harm, with a breathless abandon. Robb leaned down and cut her ropes anyway. "Thenns you say… They…"

He couldn't finish his sentence as a babbling brook of red hair encapsulated him and formerly bonded arms hugged him tight.

She broke away.

"FREEE MEEE!" He mockingly cried at her.

He would have repeated himself but her lips encapsulated his.


End file.
